


We’ve Met Before… But I See No Recognition In Your Eyes

by TaliskerMortem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Because the Hales and Claudia both died around the same time, Flashbacks, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Claudia Stilinkski, Mentions of struggling to live/not wanting to live, Takes places during the Pilot (sort of), The Hale Fire, briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaliskerMortem/pseuds/TaliskerMortem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You watch as his eyes pass over you. He doesn’t recognize you. Your hand absentmindedly comes up to scratch the back of your neck, giving you an excuse – any excuse – to look away from him.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>OR: When Scott and Stiles meet Derek Hale in the woods for the first time, Stiles remembers that actually - this isn't the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We’ve Met Before… But I See No Recognition In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this turned out to be both longer and sadder than I expected and I'm sorry if it drags on a bit at the end, I had trouble bringing it to a decent halt. This idea has been stewing in my mind for a while, it takes place during 1.01 when Stiles and Scott are looking for Scott's inhaler and bump into Derek. Stiles' reaction always confused me a little because he seems really uncomfortable the way he basically hides his face when he scratches the back of his neck and turns away. Which is a little uncharacteristic of our Stiles. And the way he knows exactly who Derek is despite claiming it had been ten years (a slight exaggeration on his part) since he had left.
> 
> So yeah, this is what I came up with for the reasons behind Stiles' initial reaction to Derek. I hope you like it, I should probably go through and check it but it's 2.30am and I just want to post it now. Enjoy!

** **

** **

**We’ve Met Before… But I See No Recognition In Your Eyes**

“What are you doing here?” a voice calls from behind you. Turning around, your breath hitches as you take in the figure approaching you. _Shit_. “Huh? This is private propriety!” they continue. You watch as his eyes pass over you. He doesn’t recognize you. Your hand absentmindedly comes up to scratch the back of your neck, giving you an excuse – _any_ excuse – to look away from him.

“Hum... Sorry, man, we didn't know,” you mutter stupidly, refusing to meet his eyes. Because he doesn’t remember. And you’re not sure if you are trying to hide yourself so he doesn’t see you or if you are avoiding his eyes so you don’t have to see the way he doesn’t know who you are. Scott splutters moronically beside you, muttering something practically incoherent about looking for something. All you know is your heart is beating a million miles a minute and you’re not entirely sure why.

Then there’s movement, you can feel the shift in the air. Then something is flying your way. Scott catches it thankfully – and it was aimed at him after all. The man’s eyes are focused on him. Not on you. It is Scott’s inhaler.

And then he’s gone again. And you are left standing in the woods (on his private property) staring after him and wondering if you are dreaming. But Scott’s beside you making curious noises down at the inhaler in his hands and talking about getting back to work. You don’t hear a word.

“Dude, that was Derek Hale!” you breathe out in a rush, grabbing onto Scott to ground yourself. Remind yourself this is real. That this is happening. The memories are flooding your mind’s eye and you can’t stop them.

_It’s the smell that wakes you, the awful pungent odour of decay. It’s like a twisted memory – caught somewhere between happy bonfires with your parents and the dead deer corpse you had stumbled across in the woods the other day. Rotten from the inside out._

_You’re tired. The kind of tired that sleep can’t fix. Not that you’ve been getting a lot of that either. It’s a bone tiredness. A weariness that hangs heavily upon your heart. It’s been three weeks. But it feels like an eternity. You can still feel the ghost of her hand squeezing yours for the last time. The sound of her last, ragged breath echoes in your ears until you think you’ll go mad with it._

_The back seat of your dad’s cruiser is not the most comfortable place for a nap but you’ve lost track of the times you’ve woken up here, disoriented and confused. And then the sounds hit you too._

“You remember, right?” and you are shaking Scott now, begging him to understand. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. You never told him about it. You never told anyone. It was your secret. An unspoken promise to a man who doesn’t remember you.

_There is a relentless whining from a siren. But it’s not the familiar siren of the police cruisers. Blinking your eyes, you catch sight of the monstrous red fire-truck a few car spaces away. There is shouting too. Too many voices for any of them to be heard with clarity._

_You hear the screaming too. And it echoes something you feel inside you every day. Everyday since you watched the light fade from your mother’s eyes. It’s the scream of loss. Of agony. It’s the scream of someone who doesn’t know what they’ve done to deserve this. Why is the world punishing them? What did they do?_

_You know the drill. Dad’s on a case. Stay in the car. Don’t try to get his attention. You know the rules. But you ignore them anyway. Pushing open the cruiser’s back door, you step out into the murky woods. That’s when you see it: the charred and blackened skeleton of a house. And you know you should recognize it but you can’t. There’s nothing left now. Nothing but the frame and clouds of ash and smoke._

_The fire-truck has stopped its hoses because there is nothing left to put out. Men and women are huddled in groups, staring at the burnt remains of what was once a great house. They don’t see you. They don’t notice you wandering amongst them. No one thinks to ask what a child is doing at a scene like this._

_Maybe they are too shocked by the horror of it all. Maybe you’re just too small for them to see. You don’t like looking at the house. So you look for your dad. It takes a while but eventually you see him, in his full Deputy uniform, standing by a couple of ambulances. There’s a girl shaking besides him, clinging to him. You think the screams might have come from her._

_She beautiful, you think. But you know something bad has happened. That is not the grief of losing a home. That is the grief of losing a person. It’s the same grief that is plastered across the mirrors in your house whenever you pass by them and deign to look._

_You don’t notice the boy at first. He’s sitting behind them. In one of the ambulances. Not moving. Just staring. There is no expression in his face. Just a blankness that you recognize._

_Your dad wasn’t there when she died. You were alone with her. You don’t remember anything between her passing and when your dad was pulling you into his arms though. You think your faces might have looked like this boy’s._

“He’s just a few years older than us,” you continue to babble to Scott, unable to help yourself. You were eleven when your mom died. He was just sixteen when you met him.

_You dad spots you over the girls shoulder, where he has pulled her into his arms, holding her together while she is not able to do so herself. In the ambulance beside them, a body is being loaded with an oxygen mask attached to their face._

_You don’t say anything. You just walk passed your dad and the girl and sit down in the ambulance beside the boy. He doesn’t say anything either._

“Remember what?” Scott asks, clearly a little exasperated with your erratic behavior. It’s only a little more intense than usual but you can see Scott’s confusion shining in big brown orbs.

“His _family_!” you huff. _How can Scott not remember_? Because he wasn’t there.

_You aren’t normally a quiet person. But you haven’t said anything since it happened. Not one word. You know you worry your dad. But something just seems to be stopping to words from coming out. You’ve screamed. You’ve cried. But you haven’t spoken._

_But now there is a boy beside you who will never be whole again. And you know how that feels, the hole in your heart is still fresh and it hurts. It hurts more than you ever thought it would. But there is a boy beside you and he is feeling the same way. And you know you have to help him._

_So you take his hand. Wrapping your spider fingers around his warm ones and you’re surprised for a moment by how warm he is. Because he looks like he’s frozen inside._

_“My mom said that when she died, she would still be watching over me from Heaven,” you find yourself saying. And your voice is rough from disuse and tears. “She used to say she would join the guardian angels that watch over me,” you continue, not letting go of the boy’s hand even though he shows no sign of even knowing you are there. “And I thought that that would make it better… Knowing she was still looking out for me.”_

_There are people swarming over the burnt out shell of the house now. Looking for bodies. For evidence. Trying to decipher what caused this devastation._

_“But it doesn’t. Because she’s still gone. And nothing will ever be able to fill the hole she left in my heart,” you say. And your voice is steady. “I thought I wouldn’t be able to survive. I thought I would die with grief. But I haven’t,” you explain unnecessarily. “I’m still alive.” And you still don’t know if this boy can even hear you through his pain. But you continue anyway. “Even though sometimes I wish I wasn’t, even if sometimes I wish it would all just go away. All of it. The pain. The memories. Everything…_

_“Sometimes I hate her for leaving me,” you confess. “Sometimes I hate myself for not saving her. Sometimes I wish I could have gone in her place. But I’m still alive. And she’s not. And that hurts,” you state. “But I am alive. And I have to live. I have to live for my dad,” you explain. “Just like you have to live for the girl. She’s probably your sister or something. But she’s hurting too. And you need to live for her. And you will. Because you can’t actually die from grief. Even though it feels like you can. You can’t… Or else I don’t think I would still be here.”_

_It’s not the most motivational speech and you know that. But that doesn’t matter. Because it’s the truth. And you don’t even know if he was listening anyway._

“They all burned in a fire like ten years ago,” you explain when Scott still looks bewildered and confused. And you know you’re exaggerating but that doesn’t matter. Scott doesn’t need you know that you know exactly how long it has been. How many years. How many months. How many days.

_You sit with the boy in silence for hours. The medics hand you both shock blankets and you wrap his around him when he doesn’t make a move to take it. You sit back down closer to him, reaching for his hand again._

_The girl has stopped screaming, and is now sitting on the other side of the boy, her own blanket wrapped around her. Your dad is talking to some other officers but you can feel his regular glances in your direction. A woman in uniform checks on the three of you every fifteen minutes or so and there is always someone close by._

_You see several stretchers with bodies or parts of bodies – blackened and burned almost beyond recognition – being loaded into other ambulances. You count five but there are still people in the ruins. You know the pain of losing a mother. But you cannot imagine losing so many. You never had a big family. It was always just you, you dad and your mom. You don’t know what it’s like. Your mother was ill. You had time to prepare. And you know that you can’t really prepare for something like death but at least you knew it was going to happen. This was an accident. There was no warning. You have no idea what that’s like._

_But you understand grief. And right now, that’s all that matters._

“What is he doing back?” is all Scott can ask; glancing in the direction Derek Hale had vanished. And you don’t know what to say. You remember his face. You can still recall the haunted look in his eyes and you have no idea what would bring him back to the place where it all happened.

_The sun dips below the treetops; the air is still hazy with ash and smoke. And still you sit there. Your hand still holding onto the boy’s. Anchoring him in this world. Because you know touch is important. You know how Scott’s bear-hugs make you feel a little less like crumbling; you know how Mrs McCall’s cheek-kisses make a little of the darkness inside you ebb away; you know how your dad’s steady hand upon yours stop you feeling like you are about to drown with grief._

_So you hold onto his hand as night creeps upon you. You can’t see the stars through the haze but you know they are there. And you suppose that’s just the same as it is with you mom: you can’t always see her, maybe in a dream or a memory, but you know she_ is _still there. And one day you will see her again. Not on this earth. But maybe somewhere new, somewhere beautiful, somewhere without all this pain._

_You notice the boy looking up at the sky as well and it’s the first time he’s moved since you sat down. You smile sadly at him and while he doesn’t meet your eye or return the gesture, the hand you’re holding in yours tightens a bit and you know he knows you’re there. And you know this is his way of saying thank you. And you know that you’ve helped, even just a little, to push away the darkness that is consuming him._

_“Stiles,” your dad calls gently long after night has fallen. “Come on son,” he urges, a hand on your shoulder. You notice the girl is gone again, talking to another woman in uniform. She’s older than she seemed at first. You give your dad a look and he nods in understanding, stepping away to say some last words to one of the few Deputies still left on the scene. You don’t remember it getting so quiet._

_You turn to look at the boy beside you again and this time he is looking back at you. And when you squeeze his hand, he squeezes back. A proper squeeze this time. “I know it seems like the end of the world,” you whisper. “And in a way it is… But I’ve been told that it’s not. Not really,” you shrug. And you don’t know if he understands what you’re trying to say – hell, you don’t even know if you understand it yourself – but then he is pulling you towards him. And you feel his arms come around you, holding you against his chest and you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him together like you dad had done for the girl._

_And he does something strange, he buries his head in your neck and you could swear that he is sniffing you. But maybe he’s just trying not to cry. You don’t say anything either way. Just hold him at tight as your spindly arms can manage. And you stay like that for a while, not saying anything, not really moving. Just holding each other._

_When he does pull away you could have sworn you saw his iridescent eyes glowing blue. But you don’t say anything about that either. You just reach for his hand one last time and give it one last squeeze._

_And then you are walking away, toward your dad, who is waiting by the cruiser now. And you don’t say anything. And neither does he. But you both know. You both understand._

“Don’t know,” you shrug, unable to think of a more intelligent answer when your mind is drifting almost six years in the past with a broken boy and a starless night.

And it hurts that he doesn’t recognize you. But you don’t blame him. You just push it down. Bury it like you bury everything. “Come on,” you mutter to Scott and then you’re taking off in the opposite direction to Derek Hale and you are putting him to the back of your mind. But you can feel it, the little piece of your heart you offered to him that day, the little bit he took with a hand squeeze and a desperate hug.

And while he may have forgotten you, you know you won’t forget him. You haven’t forgotten him in all this time. So why should that change now?

_You know you won’t talk about this day with anyone. Not even your dad. He might mention it in passing. Tell you the boys name: Derek Hale. Tell you about the girl: Derek’s sister Laura who’s eighteen and taking custody of him and moving across the country. You read the file that your dad tries to hide stating there were eight casualties that were accounted for. Suspected arson but no proof. You know more than you should about that day._

_But you never talk about it. You never mention the boy you tried to save. It’s like your own secret – shared between just the two of you. There is no need to talk about it. You know you probably won’t see the boy again but that doesn’t matter because you helped him today. And you just hope that he can cling to that until he makes it through the blackness._

But you have seen him again. And he doesn’t remember. There was nothing in those iridescent eyes that showed any sign of recognition. But that night you dream of him and when you make in the middle of the night, you could have sworn you heard footsteps on your rooftop.


End file.
